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Once Upon A City: Taking aim at The Archer

The highly controversial sculpture that polarized Toronto in the mid-1960s has withstood the test of time

The Oct. 28, 1966 photo caption read: Henry Moore's The Archer as seen from the 14th floor of a nearby bulding. The Star's art critic Robert Fulford, says even at best photographs give only a vague idea of its quality. In his view, it is a most impressive object made by a master of public monuments. Like all good sculptrue, Fulford says, it must be seen in the round to be appreciated. As he saw the statue last night, he found it stunningly golden and warm with remarkable variety-sensuous curves, great bony shapes and an easy, graceful swing. The unveiling, says Fulford, may well be remembered as the moment when art and Toronto learned to live with each other. (Reg Innell / Toronto Star Archives)

The caption on this Nov. 18, 1966 reads: Moore's Archer. new city hall are signs of today's dynamic Toronto. They typify the expansionist platform on which Mayor Givens is seeking re-election. (Barry Philp / Toronto Star Archives)

The caption of this Oct. 31, 1966 photo reads: Open air skating and the archer proved a strong draw to phillips square. 100,000 have seen 'The Archer.' (Dick Darrell / Toronto Star Achives)

The morning after the unveiling of The Archer. (Jeff Goode / Toronto Star Archives)

The caption of this March 10, 1967 photo reads: Dawn raiders scrub the archer. City Hall cleaners staged a dawn raid on The Archer today and gave the sculpture its first cleaning since it was put in place last October. Henry Moore's massive bronze work has been gathering soot and grime all winter. Moore himself will be in Toronto next Tuesday. Coudl this be the reason behind the sudden clean-up? (Doug Griffin / Toronto Star Archives)

The caption on this Aug. 12, 1967 photo reads: Get me to the church on time! Leaving this 23-year-old groom-to-be in Nathan Phillips Square, with hands bound, legs manacled to Henry Moore's sculpture, The Archer, started off as a stag party gag last night. But, it took the combined efforts of two friends, four policemen and seven firemen to free him. One leg-iron was finally unlocked, other had to be cut away. The wedding is two weeks away. (Don Dutton / Toronto Star Archives)

The caption on this June 19, 1968 photo reads: A sea of spectators swirls around sculpture The Archer in Nathan Phillips square today, and several of crowd climb atop to get a better view of Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau at the massive rally in front of the City Hall. In the square, Trudeau delivered a 15-minute speech to climax Liberals' Toronto campaign. (Doug Griffin / Toronto Star Archives)

Soaking up the April sun atop The Archer in 1975. (Frank Lennon / Toronto Star Archives)

Philip Givens couldn’t contain his excitement. Pulling on baggy corduroys and bulky sweater against the October night’s chill, the Toronto mayor dashed down to the docks.

“How is it?” he anxiously asked Capt. A.W. Schuyler of the Dutch freighter Prins Philips Willem, which had made the overseas journey with the precious and pricey cargo.

“Fine, just fine,” the captain reassured him but declined to let Givens into the hold to greet the city’s newest — and biggest — resident.

Less than 48 hours after that midnight visit to the dockside, The Archer was unveiled in the square in front of City Hall. With 10,000 spectators gathered for the Oct. 27 evening ceremony 50 years ago, Givens was gleeful.

“It’s beautiful. It’s marvellous. I don’t know what to say,” he gushed after a canvas shroud was pulled off the 2.5-tonne bronze hulk of a sculpture known officially as “Three-Way Piece No. 2.”

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But the historic event had been far from certain when the controversial work of art was still just a maquette (small model) in Henry Moore’s country studio north of London, England.

Viljo Revell, the Finnish architect who designed Toronto’s new city hall and a friend of the internationally renowned artist, thought a larger version would be ideal for the public plaza that came to be known as Nathan Phillips Square.

The curves of the large abstract form complemented the flowing lines of the building, which opened in 1965. (Revell died in 1964 without seeing its completion or installation of the sculpture.)

But the Moore proposal polarized local politicians. The $120,000 price tag (almost $750,000 in today’s dollars) was too rich for the city’s overburdened taxpayers, some protested. Hogtown didn’t need and wouldn’t appreciate fine art of this calibre, said others.

Arguments over The Archer erupted at decision-making time in March, 1966.

“I don’t swoon with ecstasy when I look at pieces like this,” declared controller William Dennison, who doubted Torontonians would want it.

Lillian James, a spectator at a board of control meeting, agreed, saying many people couldn’t even afford “to put an ordinary picture on their wall.”

At council a week later, Alderman Fred Beavis took direct aim at The Archer. “How much more art and culture can we stand?” he demanded. “How much more can we have shoved down our throats?”

But Givens, terming opponents “neanderthals and knuckleheads,” fought back. The sculpture, which was part of the mayor’s dream of turning Toronto into a showplace for culture and fine art, would be a tourist magnet, he predicted. And he was ready to stake his political career on it.

“This is what I want for my city — exciting, pulsating dynamism,” he extolled. “And yes, ladies and gentlemen, it’s going to cost you money.”

One supporter, Alderman Horace Brown, put Henry Moore on a pedestal as the greatest sculptor since Michelangelo. But it didn’t help the cause that Moore’s work was often controversial with Prince Philip likening one of his creations to a monkey’s gallstone.

People don’t want art they can’t understand, said Alderman Alice Summerville who, like many constituents, was incensed at the cost.

“I’m afraid the mayor will have to justify this one at the polls,” she told the Toronto Daily Star.

Council rejected the purchase in a 13 to 10 vote.

“They just didn’t have the guts to go through with it,” Givens fumed.

Moore himself told a Star reporter in an overseas phone call that, while he was disappointed, he could easily find a home for the sculpture in a European city. Indeed, a couple of months later The Archer was on display in Arnhem in the Netherlands.

But the battle was far from over as Givens began casting a fundraising net to pay for the piece, which measured three metres high and almost four metres wide.

“My daughter, for one, will not be peddling wares nor shall I contribute in any way, shape or form for the ‘monstrosity,” Mrs. E.B. Young complained in a letter to the editor following a suggestion that schoolchildren could help raise money.

The feud at City Hall over Toronto’s role in the arts became so heated that the Star devoted a page pitting Givens against Dennison in print. But cheques from art enthusiasts piled up and with Moore knocking $20,000 off the price and transportation services donated, a fall delivery date was set.

When the sculpture was finally revealed to the public on Oct. 27, 1966, “Three-Way Piece No. 2” was the city’s No. 1 conversation piece. Many observers were enthusiastic about the “bronze and big and brooding” form — as the Star described it — mounted on an elliptical concrete base.

Others weren’t so sure. “I can’t make head or tails of it,” puzzled tourist Cal Hollis of Bermuda, pronouncing it “horrid.”

Few were indifferent as they described it as looking like “nothing on earth” and “something doctors usually study.” One youngster labelled it a “sick mushroom.”

Eric Arthur, chair of the civic art committee who had fought for the sculpture, opined that “posterity will remember tonight. The philistines have retreated in disorder.”

The unveiling of the “most impressive object,” said the Star’s art critic Robert Fulford, “may well be remembered as the moment when art and Toronto learned to live with each other.”

Less than six weeks later, The Archer’s biggest proponent found himself turfed from the mayor’s chair by his nemesis William Dennison in the municipal election.

But today the once reviled art installation is one of the city’s most beloved and much-photographed landmarks. Seems Phil Givens was right all along.

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